


Snapshots

by trashmouthreddie99



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: I FIXED IT GUYS, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, it chapter two - not really spoilers but ??, okay but this is just the photo booth scene from it chapter 2 and I expanded on it, sorta?, they're all happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 15:10:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashmouthreddie99/pseuds/trashmouthreddie99
Summary: There was one moment from that summer they fought It that Eddie always hoped he would remember.





	Snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon, I just expanded on that tiny photo booth scene we got from Stanley's bar mitzvah flashback in It: Chapter Two. Basically just Eddie and Richie gently pining for each other. Very soft.

The light coming through the Aladdin’s glass doors stung Eddie’s eyes the way light did when you’d been asleep and your mom woke you up by flicking on your bedroom lamp. 

After two hours in the dark, the Losers entered the movie theater’s arcade, the seven of them tripping over each other toward the photo booth. 

Eddie’s heart skipped high in his chest, the soda, candy, popcorn, and shitty horror movie giving his stomach a giddy fizzy feeling. He kicked a trashcan on his way to the photo booth, his legs turned grasshopper-springy from the extended period of sitting. Behind him, there was a short, loud burst of laughter. Richie’s laughter.

The feeling in Eddie’s stomach bubbled up to his chest, then to his brain like some kind of bottled magic.

They were right outside the photo booth now, and Richie stood right behind Eddie. They all did, really, but Richie was close enough Eddie could feel his breath on his neck. It smelled like Skittles and rootbeer.

Tightness grew in Eddie’s throat, but it wasn’t like when his asthma acted up. It was like the feeling in his stomach was expanding, filling his chest and head with something warm and a little dizzy.

He fumbled with the photo booth’s curtain; dust billowed out from the heavy material, and soda and grease spotted it dark brown. 

“This is fucking disgusting,” he said.

“Pip pip and tallyho, my good fellow,” Richie said, speaking in one of his ridiculous Voices and knocking Eddie on the shoulder. A laugh hid between his words, like it was just waiting to tumble out. “If we don’t get you home before curfew, your mom’s gonna call the theater.”

“Yeah, and she’ll have a blast talking to Mr. Foxworth.”

Richie winced at the idea. “You know how jealous I get, Eds.”

“And you know I hate it when you call me Eds.” Eddie yanked the curtain open, grimacing at the gritty, slightly slimy feeling on his fingers. He backed into the photo booth, turning toward Richie. “Come on, Rich.”

Richie opened his mouth like he was going to continue his less-than-comedic routine, so Eddie grabbed him by his wrist to pull him in. 

Under his fingers, Richie’s skin was gently warm even after spending the afternoon in the chilly theater. As he moved into the photo booth, Eddie watched the shadows drift across the fresh freckles on his skin from the afternoons they’d spent around the clubhouse. There were some on his nose, too, spattering the space around and below his glasses.

Eddie realized he was staring at him dropped his wrist. A blush bubbled up the back of his neck and into his ears.

A smile tugged at the corner of Richie’s mouth. That wasn’t unusual. What _was_ unusual was that this smile wasn’t his normal shit-eating grin; it was soft, almost timid as he looked into Eddie’s eyes. For the second time that afternoon, he opened his mouth like he was going to say something else.

Eddie startled when Stan pushed into the space, Richie’s odd smile turning his nerves into a frayed wire waiting to spark at the slightest touch.

Stan stumbled a little, jostling Eddie’s elbow. “Make room, guys.”

As Stan and Ben climbed into the booth, Eddie felt himself pushed to the front, with Stan’s knee poking the back of his thigh. Behind him, Ben mumbled a quiet, “Beep beep, Richie,” although Eddie hadn’t heard what Richie had said to warrant the response.

As the other Losers piled in, Eddie closed his eyes. In the darkness behind his own eyelids, he let himself examine the warm blush drifting along the skin on the back of his neck and into his ears. He breathed deep into the sensation in his stomach that reminded him of what he felt when they set off firecrackers outside the clubhouse.

They were simple enough feelings, but the implications behind them made his hand drift toward his fanny pack where his aspirator hid. Trying to untangle the feelings threatened to chase them away—threatened to yank him out of the photo booth and back home, where everything was familiar, unchanging. But there was something exciting about the way he felt, almost like when you shook up a can of soda and watched to see if it would burst. He didn’t want the feelings to go away; he didn’t want to stop being _happy_. He just didn’t need to understand them right now.

Eddie opened his eyes again as Bill fumbled with the photo booth’s camera. He glanced over his shoulder at Richie, who was arguing with Stan about the logic of the movie they had just watched. He hadn’t caught the whole conversation, but he could tell Stanley was winning the argument (although Richie was leaps and bounds ahead of him in terms of making a more entertaining argument). 

A smile pulled at Eddie’s mouth, and he settled into his corner, letting himself fill up with those warm, nervous-excited feelings. This was how it was supposed to be. Now and always. He wasn’t sure how, but he just knew.

_If there’s one moment I always remember,_ Eddie thought as Bill told them to smile and clicked the camera, _I hope it’s this one._


End file.
